


Get Away With It

by Synekdokee



Series: Missed Connections [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Markus/Simon, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Connor is a kind of a slut, Human AU, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Sex Positive, Smut, age disparity, lying, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16121198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: “Calm down, Connor,” Hank says dryly, digging in his jeans pocket to pull out his wallet and showing him his badge.“Oh,” Connor says, simultaneously relieved and horrified that he’s managed to pick up a fucking cop. He’s pretty sure his uncle wouldn’t have reported him missing, probably more relieved to have him gone, but despite the fact that he’s a legal adult now, fear still lingers.





	Get Away With It

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to RedxLuna for betaing this and dealing with my ramblings.
> 
> Find on Tumblr at synekdokee or roomfullofcunts.

_So I left home and_  
_Faked my ID_  
_I fucked every man  
__That I wanted to be_

 

 

 

He knows it’s a shitty way to leave.

 A backpack full of clothes and cash, his highschool diploma (he leaves the principal’s commendation card for his early graduation in the wastebasket), his real ID and the fake one he bought from his cousin’s university roommate, and the quarter his father used to teach him coin tricks with. In his pocket a picture of his mother, faded like the memory of her voice.

He considers leaving his uncle and Amanda a note, but there’s not much left to say. His uncle wouldn’t care and Amanda would read it with the same perpetual look of disappointment and disdain she always reserves for Connor. In the end he settles for leaving his house key in the middle of the dining room table. The symbolism is heavy-handed, but it pleases Connor.

He turns off the lights and locks the front door, bracing himself against the cold autumn evening. The moon is high, illuminating the suburbia like a giant searchlight, and Connor’s paranoid every car turning onto the street belongs to his uncle. The tension only melts away when he’s on the bus, peeling his hood down, away from the terminal’s security cameras.

He changes buses twice before he lets himself fall asleep, lulled by the dim lights and the hum of the bus engine.

 

Ann Arbor suits him. He spends five months at the youth shelter before he ages out. He gets a job at minimum wage and finds a flat-share with two other guys, Markus and Simon, all three of them unable or unwilling to return home.

It’s a freedom he’d never been able to have at home. Younger than his peers and not quite as straight as the idyllic suburban home-life demanded, Ann Arbor opens up a new world for him. He tries dating guys his own age, loses his virginity to someone so sweet Connor feels like absolute dirt when he breaks it up, and then gives up on the dating scene and moves to the clubs. He loves sex, he finds, and turns out older men are better at it. Better at knowing what to do, better at pinning Connor down the way he wants, better at giving him the attention he feels he deserves.

 

Simon makes a joke about his daddy issues, and Connor ties himself into knots trying to explain that the last thing he needs is a fucked-up father figure to replace the two he already had. His father walked out after gambling away Connor’s college funds his mother willed him, and his uncle hated having a wife smarter than him too much to appreciate an over-achieving teenager under his roof too.

No, Connor doesn’t want someone he can call daddy to tell him what a good boy he is. He doesn’t want someone who’ll pat his head and give him empty words of encouragement, someone to patronise him, or to look at him only to see a kid who tries too hard (even if he sometimes does).

So he tries to find his place, tries to figure out what he wants from life, what to do with himself, and in between he finds men, men who’ll fuck him and let him fuck them, men who’ll treat him like an equal and not a kid.

If it inflates his ego when they believe his lies about his age (the fake ID helps, easier to pass as a 20-something when he’s in a club with a high age-limit), well, he refuses to feel bad about it.

 

In October Simon wants to go to Detroit for his birthday.

“The clubs are way better,” he wheedles, Connor more easily swayed than Markus. In the end Simon gets his way, as he usually does when Markus is concerned.

They get drunk on the train, laughing loud enough to earn glares from their fellow passengers, and for once Connor doesn’t care. He feels good, content as he watches Markus hold Simon’s hand, the cheap wine warming his core, excited for what Detroit has to offer. He doesn’t plan on going home with the others tonight, and there’s a constant low thrum of arousal in his gut.

 

The first bar they end up turns out to be a disappointment, watery drinks and shitty music. By the time they decide which club to go to it’s late, the streets filled with people out on a Friday night, escaping the cold weather into crowded clubs and bars.

 

“I have to go to the ATM,” Connor groans, digging through his wallet. The line to the club is long enough that he tells Markus and Simon to head inside without him, and heads around the corner to look for the cash machine he saw earlier.

He withdraws enough to buy him a few drinks (and maybe a taxi ride, if things go well), and stuffs his wallet in his pocket, shivering in the cold as he starts walking back. There are less people here, and paranoia strikes him just as a skinny guy steps out to block his path with intent.

“Hey-” Connor says, lifting his hands up placatingly, but he’s cut short.

“Give me your wallet, don’t do anything stupid,” the man says, taking a threatening step towards Connor. Connor backs up, looking around frantically as he reaches for his pocket.

“Okay, take it easy,” he says, fumbling as he struggles with the worn leather of his wallet, hands shaky and his jeans too fucking tight. He’s sure he’s about to get shanked.

The mugger takes another quick step towards him, and then he’s hauled back by his hood. Connor looks up to see a tall, broad man push the mugger out into the main street, shoving him in the chest and sending him stumbling.

“Beat it, asshole,” Connor’s saviour growls, and Connor sags a little against the brick wall.

“You okay kid?” the man asks, grabbing Connor’s arm and pulling him away from the alley.

Connor nods, running his hand through his hair in relief. “Yeah. Jesus, thank you, that was… thank you,” he repeats, looking at the man. Good looking, well built with the beginnings of salt and pepper hair, his blue eyes sharp on Connor. Very much Connor’s type with those wide shoulders and a frame that towers over him. The  man’s mouth is a thin line, but it quirks into a wry smile as he looks at Connor up and down.

“Try to stay out of trouble, kid,” he says, and before Connor can make a fool of himself by throwing himself at the guy, starts walking down the street and disappears into a crowd.

Connor hurries back into the line, Markus and Simon already somewhere in the club, and waits patiently, for once feeling reassured by the jostling people around him.

  
To their credit his friends are waiting for him at the nearest bar to the entrance. Simon is appropriately excited when Connor tells them what happened in the alley, while Markus fusses over him until he’s convinced Connor’s alright. He’s determined to have a good time, and decides that surviving a mugging must be a sign that this is his night.

  
The dance floor fills up the later it gets and the drunker people get. Connor’s pleasantly buzzed, enough to loosen him up to the music. Markus is the most far gone of them, laughing up a riot and basking in the adoring gazes Simon casts his way. By the time they start grinding against each other Connor starts to feel like a third wheel, and begins scanning the crowd for someone who might catch his eye.

He ends up in a corner somewhere, his tongue down the throat of a guy who’s dressed too well for a club like this. The man’s hand is under Connor’s shirt, pressed against the dip of his spine, his thigh between Connor’s legs. Connor’s half-hard, about to suggest they head somewhere else, when the man pulls away. Is pulled away, Connor realises, by an angry looking woman. The music swallows up their argument, but it doesn’t look like she’s his girlfriend, so Connor slips away, frustrated and in need of a drink.

He gets himself an over-priced beer. His mouth is starting to feel sugar-coated from the sweet drinks Markus keeps buying him, offering him cherry bombs and colourful cocktails garnished with umbrellas with a shit-eating grin.

He nearly spills it over himself when he walks into what feels like a fleshier version of a brick-wall, stumbling back and about to chew whoever it is out, but he’s stopped short by a strong arm grabbing his shoulder to steady him.

“You again,” Salt-and-pepper yells over the music, looking amused. Connor smiles, heat curling in the pit of his belly as he looks at the man. It really must be his night.

“I never got your name,” he says, leaning closer to be heard. The man laughs, and then shakes his head.

“Not on your life, kid, you’re too young for me,” he says, and Connor suppresses a frown.

“I’m older than I look, believe it or not,” he says, the lie passing easily through his lips, sold by his careless, self-deprecating laugh.

The man pauses to look at him, and Connor’s thankful for the dim lights of the club, only flashing colours lighting up his face, making scrutiny impossible. He’s equally glad he’s carrying around a beer instead of a fruity drink.

The man tilts his head back, looking Connor down his hawk-like nose, and the leans in close enough that Connor can smell his aftershave.

“Name’s Hank,” he says, low voice carrying over the music and sending a pleasant shiver down Connor’s spine.

Hank’s clearly not the type to dance, so they find themselves drinking their beers at a table off the dance floor, trying to have a conversation over the pounding bass. Connor hopes to god Markus and Simon have enough sense not to come looking for him now, but he sends Markus a text just to be safe.

“ _Found someone, will come back tomorrow._ ”

“ _Text me where you’re going so I know where to find your body_ ,” Markus sends back, and Connor grins. Markus will give him shit, but he won’t judge him.

“Boring you already?” Hank asks, and Connor tucks his phone away apologetically.

“Sorry, just making sure my friend got home safely,” he lies, placing his hand on Hank’s arm on the pretense of using him as support as he leans in close to yell over the music.

Hank nods approvingly, gaze still glued to Connor’s face. It’s enough to make him flush a little, hoping it’s not visible in their dark corner. The way Hank looks at him is different from what he’s used to, scrutinising instead of hungry, and Connor wonders if he bought the lie after all. Then the man seems to make a decision - he leans back in his seat, stretching an arm behind Connor to rest it over his shoulders. Connor smiles, drawn to Hank’s overt cockiness.

“So, Connor, you live around here?” Hank asks, and Connor takes a split second to consider which lie to tell him.

“No, I live in Ann Arbor. I’m just here visiting a friend,” he says, pressing into Hank’s side slightly.

“And what do you do in Ann Arbor?”

Connor cocks his head - why does he feel like he’s being interrogated?

“I’m studying behaviour, education and communication,” he rattles off easily, and Hank raises his eyebrows.

“In University, huh?” He narrows his eyes. “Andrew Doherty still heading the faculty of psychology?” he asks, taking a slow swig of his own beer, and now Connor knows he’s being tested.

He shakes his head, keeping his expression casual. “Don’t know him. It’s been professor Huang since I’ve gone there.” It’s the truth, too, sort of. He’d looked up course options the previous year, and seen Professor Doherty’s retirement announcement.

Something in Hank relaxes visibly at that, his expression softening a little. His hand moves to play with the hair at the nape of Connor’s neck, and Connor suppresses a shiver.

“You like it there?” Hank asks, but his voice is more casual now, his gaze more appreciative than penetrating.

Connor doesn’t like building conversations on lies, so he nods and says “So far. Some courses better than others. Why, you looking into changing careers?” he adds playfully, hoping to change the subject.

Hank laughs, spreading his palm flat on Connor’s neck, and, Jesus, Connor wants him.

“Not if you paid me. I’m good at what I do,” he says, spreading his legs a little as he shifts in his seat, so self-assured Connor aches with envy. He can’t help looking at Hank’s lap, just a quick, evaluating glance, but when he looks back at Hank the man’s lips are curled into a smug smile.

Yeah, alright.

“You want to finish these and find somewhere else?” Connor asks, voice low as he lays one hand on Hank’s thick thigh. The look Hank gives him is enough to get him half-hard again, and then he’s draining the rest of his beer in one go, setting it down with a challenging look at Connor, who laughs. It’s kinda flattering, knowing Hank’s in a hurry.

He brings his own bottle to his lips, holding Hank’s gaze, but he’s barely tipped it back when someone bumps into his side drunkenly. He ends up drenched in lukewarm beer, left with nothing but a slurred “sorry, man” and a retreating back. Hank takes the bottle out of his hand and sets it down, leaning in close enough that his nose brushes the shell of Connor’s ear.

“Better get you out of that shirt then,” he murmurs, and Connor swallows thickly.

 

Getting a taxi is easy, plenty of them free during the lull hours between people heading out and bars closing down. Connor waits until Hank gives the driver his address, and then he’s leaning in, one hand on Hank’s jaw demanding as he kisses him. Hank doesn’t hesitate, wraps a strong arm around Connor’s waist and pulls him close, his tongue teasing at the seam of Connor’s mouth.

He parts his lips with a soft moan, hand sliding down Hank’s chest, over his stomach and down to his crotch, cupping his hand around the swell in his jeans. His own prick jumps at the low sound Hank lets out, and he rubs gently. Christ, the man feels big. Connor’s hungry for it, starving, and he pours it all into the kisses. Hank gives back just as good until Connor’s lost in the rhythm of it, rocking his hips into the solid shape of Hank’s side.

He’s disappointed when the taxi stops and Hank practically peels him off with a laugh and pushes him out of the car and into a perfectly average apartment building. They manage to keep their hands off each other for the elevator ride up and the short walk to Hank’s apartment, but the moment the door closes behind them Hank has him pressed against it, caging him between his arms.

“Fuck, you stink,” he says, and Connor lets out an indignant huff before pulling his beer-stained shirt off with one smooth move, dropping it on the floor with his coat.

Hank’s hands are all over him, large, calloused palms sliding over Connor’s flushed skin, settling on his hips and pulling him against Hank. Connor goes willingly, wrapping his arms around Hank’s shoulders, rocking up against him.

A phone rings somewhere and Hank pulls back, cursing as Connor whines, reluctantly letting him go.

“Hold that thought,” Hanks growls, disappearing into a room. Connor hears him pick up the phone to talk to someone, and he takes the moment to find the bathroom to rinse his shirt out and hang it off a shower rod. He sends Markus Hank’s address, not because he feels unsafe, but because he’s not stupid and because Markus doesn’t deserve to worry about him.

He hears Hank hang up the call as he exists the bathroom, and he’s about to go find him when he sees something that makes him freeze.

A gun, black and solid looking on a bureau. Within easy reach. He considers just walking out now, worry pooling in his gut, imagination running wild, but then Hank’s brushes past him. He picks up the gun and locks it in a drawer, tucking the key away.

“Calm down, Connor,” he says dryly, digging in his jeans pocket to pull out his wallet and showing him his badge.

“Oh,” Connor says, simultaneously relieved and horrified that he’s managed to pick up a fucking cop. He’s pretty sure his uncle wouldn’t have reported him missing, probably more relieved to have him gone, but despite the fact that he’s a legal adult now, fear still lingers.

Hank wraps his arms around him, pulling Connor back against his chest. “Okay?” he asks, reading Connor’s tension wrong. He nuzzles at the nape of Connor’s neck and Connor relaxes, reassured. He hums softly, rolling his hips back. Hank grunts, undoing Connor’s jeans and sliding his hand down his pants, wrapping his fingers around his cock.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Connor cries out, arching against Hank. He feels Hank’s low laugh as much as he hears it, reverberating through his broad chest, and his cock hardens in the man’s hand. He ruts into it, looking down to watch Hank stroke him slow, Hank’s chin resting on his shoulder.

“I’m going to fuck that tight little ass of yours,” Hank growls, and Connor’s knees nearly buckle out from under him.

“Yes, fuck, Hank-” he moans, turning around to kiss him, hands fumbling with his shirt buttons.

“Into the bedroom,” Hank orders, walking Connor back. Connor laughs into a kiss, breathless and aching with arousal, going down easily when Hank gives him a shove and pushes him onto a large bed. Connor crawls back and lets Hank grab his jeans and pull them off, kicking off his boxers. He braces himself up on his elbows, grinning up at Hank in the muted light of the bedside lamp.

“Someone needs to fatten you up,” Hank says, leaning down and crawling over him, his open shirt-tails dragging over Connor’s heated skin.

“You can stuff me as full as you want,” Connor says, waggling his eyebrows, and Hank buries a laugh into the crook of his neck.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Hank murmurs, lips brushing the skin of Connor’s clavicles. Connor’s reply is lost in a gasp as Hank trails his mouth down his chest, pausing to flick his tongue over one pebbled nipple.

Connor buries his hand in Hank’s hair as he slides down his belly, chin brushing against the tip of Connor’s cock.

“Fuck,” Connor gasps, pushing Hank down insistently. Hank huffs, letting out a disapproving sound.

“Where are your manners, kid?” he says, resting his head on Connor’s thigh.

“Please,” Connor pleads as he tugs at Hank’s hair. “Please, Hank, suck me.”

“Well, since you ask so nicely,” Hank says, voice far too even for what they’re doing, and then he’s swallowing Connor down, mouth wet and hot and tight around him. Connor cries out, struggling against the urge to rudely shove his hips up. Hank chuckles around Connor’s cock, drawing a whine out of him.

“Fuck, you’re way too good at this,” Connor pants, playing with Hank’s hair. Hank hums his affirmation, bobbing his head, tonguing the tip as he draws up.

“Hand me the lube,” he says, wiping his mouth before gesturing towards a drawer in the night stand. Connor rummages around and tosses it to him, along with a packet of condoms.

“Gonna get you off, yeah?” Hank asks, slicking up his fingers and sliding them between Connor’s legs. “We have all night…”

Connor nods, spreading his thighs eagerly, holding his breath when he feels a finger press against his hole. He grunts, keeping himself relaxed as Hank slides inside. He rolls his hips against Hank’s hand, biting his lip as Hank fingers him, slowly adding a second and finally a third finger, taking his time to loosen Connor up.

“Fuck,” Connor shouts, arching his back as Hank fucks him with his thick fingers, palming Connor’s cock as he stretches him open.

“You’re so fucking tight, loosen up a little,” Hank murmurs, leaning up to kiss Connor, gentle and almost chaste. Connor nods, letting out a breath and rocking his hips in rhythm to Hank’s strokes. Hank angles his wrist a little, and Connor cries out, back arching off the bed as Hank drags his fingers over his prostate.

Hank chuckles smugly and does it again, thumb swiping over the flushed tip of Connor’s cock, making Connor claw at the sheets as he keens, voice rough and strained.

“I’m not gonna last,” he pants, hips jerking as he tries to fuck himself on Hank’s fingers.

Hank scrapes his teeth along his jaw, down to the crook of his neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin there. He hums softly, approvingly.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” he asks, voice teasing, and Connor whines, rutting into Hank’s hands frantically.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah, I’m-” he groans, reaching out to grab Hank’s arm as he feels his orgasm building.

“Hank-” he begs, nails digging into Hank’s flesh as he comes with a stuttered sound, clenching around Hank.

He goes boneless on the bed, shuddering out a breath when Hank pulls out, rubbing his thumb over his slick hole for good measure.

“There you go, got you nice and relaxed,” Hank murmurs, kissing him hard, tongue sliding against Connor’s. He sits up to wipe his hand clean with a discarded shirt and takes a moment to look at Connor lying boneless in his bed.

“Look at you… fucking gorgeous,” he says, hands going to his own jeans. Connor watches him undo his belt buckle and fly, licking his lips with anticipation. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting, leaning over to help Hank push his pants down and off. He shuffles closer, bending down to nuzzle at Hank’s crotch, feeling the shape of his cock through his boxers. It earns him a low laugh from Hank and a hand stroking his hair.

“Eager, huh?” Hank asks, voice approving. Connor nods and hooks his fingers on the waistband of Hank’s boxers, tugging them down until his cock is fully exposed.

Connor’s mouth waters at the sight of it. Hank’s only half-hard, but he looks huge, cock hanging flushed and heavy between his strong thighs.

“I want to suck you,” Connor says, voice a little breathy. He flushes as he says it, always a little embarrassed by how much he loves eating dick, put off by the mocking reaction some guys have had. But Hank just tugs at his hair encouragingly, canting his hips towards Connor.

“Go to town, baby,” he says, voice gravelly.

Connor doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes Hank in his hand, marvelling at the girth and the weight. Smooth and hot and firm in his palm, the circumcised head flushed an angry red. He gives it a few languid strokes and watches it harden more in his grasp, and then he darts his tongue out to lap at the tip, the drop of precome spreading in his mouth.

“Don’t tease,” Hank growls, giving his hair another tug, and Connor gives him a smirk before he takes Hank between his lips, sucking him in slowly, tongue rubbing at the tip. He dips his head lower, moaning at the way the shaft stretches his lips and fills up on his tongue.

He sets up a steady pace, bobbing his head, trying to take Hank deeper. He gets frustrated at his inability to take him fully, but when he pushes himself a little too hard, too stubborn, and ends up gagging, Hank pumps the brakes.

“Alright, take it easy, kid,” he chuckles, pulling Connor back by his hair. Connor whines, reluctant to let go, too turned on by the weight of Hank’s cock heavy on his tongue. He looks up at Hank, eyes a little lust-blown, lips swollen and wet with saliva.

“Fucking hell, Connor,” Hank groans, giving his dick a few tugs. “Do you have any idea what you look like?”

Connor does, in fact, have an idea of what he looks like when he’s this fucked-out and turned on. Has heard a lot of praise about it, and it never fails to make his own dick twitch with arousal. Connor likes to be worshipped, likes it when guys act like they can’t resist him.

He gives Hank a lazy smile, cocky and proud, and Hank growls and shoves him back down on the bed, pulling off his undershirt and tossing it into a corner somewhere.

Connor takes a moment to just look, admiring the wide, wiry planes of muscle and golden skin. He palms at the large tattoo on Hank’s chest, cards his fingers through the wiry curls of his hair, down to his hard belly. Hank looks down at him, breathing heavily. He clearly likes to be looked at and admired as much as Connor does, shoulders thrown back and chest puffed out. He moves to straddle Connor, knees on either side of his hips, and reaches down to grasp his wrists in one hand, pinning Connor down.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice a low rumble that goes straight to Connor’s cock.

Connor bucks his hips, unstabling Hank, who laughs, leaning down and pressing one large palm flat on Connor’s chest.

“You want me to fuck you, huh?” he asks, tone almost taunting. “You think you can take it?”

Connor whines, struggling against the weight pinning him down, just to test the pressure. Hank doesn’t even budge, and Connor feels a surge of arousal shoot through him.

“I can take you,” he says defiantly, grinding his hips up again. Hank raises an eyebrow and lets him go, sitting up again and reaching for a rubber. He tears the package open with deft fingers, rolling the condom over himself as Connor watches. Then he runs his hand back between Connor’s buttocks, playing with his hole as thought testing it, before he shuffles back and settles between Connor’s spread legs. He puts his hands on Connor’s hips, one thumb rubbing gently over the swell of bone.

“Let me know if it hurts. We can do other stuff,” he says, grabbing the lube hastily, and Connor’s about to snap a retort when Hank nudges the blunt tip of his cock against Connor’s ass. Connor draws in a hiss and tries to relax his whole body, gritting his teeth as Hank pushes slowly inside.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Connor chants, letting out a breath, bearing down a little until he feels the head pop in. Hank’s eyes are intense on him and Connor squeezes his own eyes closed, cheek pressed against a pillow as he waits to adjust. Hank strokes a hand over his ribs, slow and soothing.

“It’s okay, takes most guys a moment,” he says, and Connor doesn’t miss the hint of a smug undertone in his voice. “You’re doing well,” Hank adds, gentler now, one hand wrapping around Connor’s flagging cock.

“Come on, do it,” Connor demands, turning his head to meet Hank’s gaze. It gets a sly smile from the man, and then he’s pushing, sliding in all the way, and Connor feels absolutely _stuffed_. “Oh, fuck, yes!” he shouts, voice cracking with lust. Hank laughs, bracing himself against the headboard as he starts to move. He keeps his thrusts slow and even, grunting every time he bottoms out.

“You’re so fucking tight, feels like I’m about to break you,” he murmurs, hunched over Connor, big and powerful and everything Connor wants.

“So why don’t you,” Connor pants, and Hank pauses, looking down at him.

“Fuck, you’re a fucking handful,” he growls, giving Connor a forceful thrust that draws a choked cry from him.

“Like that?” Hank asks, teeth bared as he starts thrusting hard and deep, not giving Connor any time to catch up. All he can do is lay there and take it, ride the drag of Hank’s cock inside him, the arousing burn as he’s stretched open.

Connor resists the urge to close his eyes and lose himself in the feeling of Hank fucking him. He watches the man move above him, braced against the headboard, every muscle in his body straining as he ruts into Connor.

Connor’s fully hard again, aching with it, his prick leaking against his belly. He wraps his legs around Hank’s hips, pulling him in with each thrust, earning him a growl from Hank. He just grins up at him, breathless and flushed and loving every second of this, every inch of Hank’s cock moving inside him, every jolt that sends him sliding on the sheets.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” Hank warns, reaching down to stroke Connor. He pauses to lower himself down, his solid frame covering Connor as he props himself on one arm by Connor’s head.

“Look at you, taking it like a champ,” he says, his gravelly voice sending a shiver of arousal through Connor. There’s sweat beading on his brow, his blue eyes intense on Connor, and finally Connor gives in. His eyes flutter closed as Hank hits his prostate, drawing a wail from his chest as his dick jerks in Hank’s grasp.

“That’s it, baby, come on,” Hank murmurs, mouthing at Connor’s jaw, breath hot on Connor’s sweat-damp skin.

Connor can’t hold back the soft moans spilling from his lips with every press of Hank’s cockhead against his prostate. In the end he’s the one who comes first, hands gripping Hank’s biceps as he yells his name, voice breaking as he comes over their bellies. Hank gives him a moment to catch his breath, stroking his hair while he pants and shakes through his orgasm, pinned in place. Only when his breathing is evening out does Hank start to move again, rough, deep thrusts that make Connor mewl, body over-sensitive and pliant.

Hank comes with a growl, hips stuttering as he shoves himself deep inside Connor. Connor whimpers softly, trailing a hand down Hank’s spine to his full ass, palming him greedily.

“Jesus,” Hank groans, pressing a kiss to Connor’s temple. He pulls off and out of Connor, drawing a pained sound from him.

Connor throws an arm over his face, licking his dry lips. His heart is pounding, his body still charged with arousal. He feels empty, knows Hank has left him slick and fucked open. He resists the urge to reach between his legs and touch himself, feel the mess Hank has left.

He feels Hank shift, get off the bed and disappear somewhere towards the bathroom.

Connor’s almost dozing when Hank comes back, pressing a warm, damp towel on his belly and making him jump. Hank laughs, a low, rumbling sound, and Connor stretches under him as he cleans him up.

“All-inclusive,” Connor mumbles approvingly, and Hank hums in agreement.

“What can I say, I’m a gentleman,” he says, tone light. The towel gets tossed into a corner somewhere, and Connor closes his eyes. He feels Hank settle next to him, and then he’s nosing at Connor’s neck, nuzzling him, lips nipping at his skin.

Connor laughs, rolling over to face him.

“You’re something else,” Hank murmurs, pulling him into a kiss. Connor hums, curving his body against Hank’s.

“You’re not too bad either,” he grins, letting his hands run over Hank’s body, enjoying the hardness of his muscles under soft skin. He buries his face in Hank’s chest, exhausted.

Hank wrestles the covers out from under them, pulling them up and wrapping his arms around Connor.

“You good?” He asks, and Connor only hums, settling against Hank.

He’s asleep before Hank even manages to turn off the bedside lamp.

 

 _________

 

Connor wakes up in the middle of the night to a phone ringing. Hank shifts next to him, groaning, and there’s a large hand smoothing down Connor’s flank.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” Hank murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

Connor tries to go back to sleep, but the sound of Hank’s voice, distant in the apartment, keeps him up. He realises he’s thirsty, so he gets out of bed to pull on his boxers and then pads out to find the kitchen.

Hank’s by the dining table, naked, leaning over a pile of papers as he writes something down. Connor takes a moment to appreciate the view until Hank shoots him a look over his shoulder.

 _Water_ , he mouths, and Hank points to a cabinet. 

“Yeah, just tell Perry to be ready with the warrant,” he says, and Connor realises he probably shouldn’t be listening in on this. He grabs the biggest glass he can find, fills it with water, and disappears into the living room.

Hank has an impressive bookshelf. Connor loses track of time as he browses it, picking up the occasional book to read the blurbs. Most of them look like they’ve actually been read through, not just put up to impress people. There’s a good collection of classic sci-fi, most of them dog-eared, spines cracked and edges worn.

He jumps when a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist, tugging him back. He settles against Hank’s wide chest with a huff, feeling the line of Hank’s cock, already hard, press against his lower back.

“Anything you like?” Hank asks, leaning down to rest his chin on Connor’s shoulder.

“Some of these are first editions,” Connor says, opening up a book to prove his point.

Hank lets out a soft, satisfied sound. “Spent a good fortune on some of them too.”

He rolls his hips against Connor, nosing behind his ear. “You want me to read to you?” he asks, voice lightly mocking. Connor snorts, twisting in his arms, pleasantly surprised when Hank kisses him hungrily, pulling him close by his ass.

“I take it the phone call was good news?” Connor laughs as Hank takes the book from his hands and puts it somewhere on the shelf behind him.

“Can’t talk about it,” Hank says, pushing Connor’s boxers down. “But _incredibly_ good news. This’ll make my career, mark my words.”

Connor doesn’t get a chance to respond - Hank grabs him by his ass and one thigh and lifts him up. Connor has to throw his arms around Hank’s shoulders to stop himself from tipping over.

“Oh, fuck,” Connor grits out, wrapping his legs around Hank’s waist, his own cock hardening quickly at the easy show of strength. Hank’s dick presses against his ass, sliding against his skin and sending shivers down his spine.

“Yeah?” Hank asks, voice deep with lust as he carries Connor to the kitchen, setting him down on the counter.

“Yeah,” Connor breathes, squeezing Hank’s shoulders.

Hank leans away to rummage around in a drawer until he finds a lone condom. Connor laughs, grabbing it out of his hand and peering at it.

“This thing have a use-by date?” he asks, turning it around. Hank gives his lower back a light smack.

“It’s fine, you little shit. Put it on me,” he commands, and Connor suppresses a shiver. He tears the foil open, taking Hank in one hand as he places the rubber over the tip.

He loves how Hank feels in his grip as he rolls the rubber down, hard and hot and incredibly thick. He spreads his legs, bracing himself on the counter with one palm flat as Hank settles between his thighs.

“You good like this?” Hank asks, sliding two fingers inside him. He’s still slick and loose from before, and the thought of taking Hank like this, no additional prep, makes his cock twitch.

Connor’s breath hitches and he nods, pulling Hank a little closer. “Yeah, I’m good for it,” he says, not proud of how wrecked he sounds.

“Just say stop,” Hank growls, breathing heavily as he guides his cock to Connor’s ass, pressing in. He doesn’t pause this time, just slides home. Connor grits his teeth against the burn, but he knows he can handle it.

Hank bottoms out and pulls back again, thrusting in hard, and Connor has to grab on to him to anchor himself.

“Okay?” Hank stutters, hands falling to Connor’s waist, bruising as he clutches him.

And it is, it’s okay, it’s _good_ , the initial pain turning into something better as his body adjusts. He nods mutely, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as Hank keeps fucking him, picking up pace until he’s pounding Connor’s ass, making him hold on for dear life.

“That’s it, fuck, look at you,” Hank pants, holding Connor close to his chest as he snaps his hips, fucking loud cries out of him.

Connor drapes himself over Hank, locking his ankles behind him, trying to roll his hips to the rhythm his thrusts. Hank pushes him back, just enough to kiss him hard, tongue fucking his mouth, messy and driving Connor wild with it.

“Fuck, Hank, fuck me…” Connor chants, voice rough with need. Hank lets out a wounded whine, teeth scraping at the curve of Connor’s shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re good, you’re so good,” Connor cries, digging his nails into Hank’s back. It seems to trigger something, Hank letting out a low moan, slamming his hips against Connor’s twice before he comes with a roar that he muffles into Connor’s skin.

“Holy fuck,” Connor breathes, stroking along Hank’s spine. His own dick is hard enough to pound nails, but he sits quietly, petting the broad expanse of Hank’s back while he catches his breath.

Eventually Hank pulls back, kissing the top of Connor’s head. He tries to pull out gently, but Connor lets out a gasp regardless.

Hank strips off the condom and then runs his fingers over Connor’s hole, a low sound rising from his chest.

“Did I go too hard?” He asks, tracing the red, sore rim of Connor’s opening with one thick finger.

“N-No,” Connor stutters, cock leaking against his belly. “Or maybe, but I liked it,” he adds honestly. It must be the right answer because Hank steps back to lean against his dining table, his smile sly.

“So get yourself off then,” he says, and Connor tries not to think too hard about why his casual tone goes straight to his cock.

Connor doesn’t blush easily, but there’s something vulnerable about stroking himself under Hank’s piercing gaze. He keeps his eyes on Hank, the way his biceps bunch as he leans back against the table, the absolute treat of his chest and stomach, his spent cock still thick against a muscled thigh.

Connor lifts one foot to rest on the counter, sliding a hand between his legs to play with his loose hole, hissing as he slides two fingers inside. Hank shifts, his nostrils flaring as he watches Connor, and the sight of his arms trembling makes Connor’s lips curve up into a smirk. He’s over-sensitive, ass aching in all the best ways as he fingers himself and strokes his cock, putting on a show for Hank.

He can’t last long, not with Hank staring at him hungrily, not with how wrecked his body is, fucked open and bruised from Hank’s hands. He comes with a choked moan, gasping for breath as he spills over his fist, and Hank surges forward to catch him when his leg slips and he nearly brains himself falling off the counter.

He collapses into Hank’s arms, drained, knees locked from being in such a weird position for so long. Hank laughs, a warm rumble that makes Connor press tighter against him. He grabs some tissues to clean them up, a little more hurried and less gentle than last time, but it does the job.

“Get your ass to bed, I gotta clean up here,” Hank orders, sending Connor off stumbling with a smack on his ass. Connor flips him off and staggers back into the bedroom. He crashes into bed, holding on to consciousness until Hank joins him, pressing up against the curve of Connor’s back.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Hank murmurs, breath ruffling Connor’s hair. Connor hums happily, nudging his ass back into the cradle of Hank’s hips. 

“You’re the best sex I’ve ever had,” Connor mumbles blearily. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Hank laughs, draping an arm over Connor’s waist. “You’re delirious, go the fuck to sleep, kid.”

Connor nods sleepily, and does as he’s told.

 

He wakes up at twilight, curled against Hank’s side. The light filling the room is cold and blue, belying the weather outside.

He lets out a soft groan, rolling onto his back. He needs to leave. He’s not good at morning-afters, and he knows his bullshit about his age isn’t gonna fly when when Hank’s sober and looking at him in daylight.

He slides out of bed quietly, taking one last look at Hank. He aches to just go to him and stay in bed with him, maybe wake up with Hank’s morning wood against his ass and have another round. Maybe see if Hank would like to see him again-

And that’s where his train of thought runs into a wall, because he’s 18 and Hank thinks he’s in his 20s, and there’s no scenario where Connor telling him the truth would go down well.

He gets dressed quietly, listening to Hank’s snores to make sure he doesn’t wake up. His t-shirt is still damp, but he zips up his coat over it.

He wants to leave Hank a note, something to show that this wasn’t just a meaningless fuck, that he had a good time, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

It’s the second time in a year that he walks out on something meaningful without so much as a goodbye.

 

It takes Connor weeks to get Hank out of his head. He hooks up with two guys, both tall and buff, but both encounters leave him feeling hollow and unsatisfied. He tells himself it’s just physical, that all they’re missing is Hank’s self-confidence ( _“and his huge dick”, Simon quips, Markus laughing gleefully_ ), but he’s lying to himself if he claims he doesn’t miss the way Hank treated him, how easy it had been to be with him. He experiences a moment of insanity where he nearly gets on a train to Detroit so he can go to Hank’s apartment, but he talks himself out of it by imagining the horrified face on Hank’s face when he tells him the truth.

 

It passes eventually. He falls back into his old patterns, though the hookups become fewer and further between, the excitement of casual sex finally wearing off on its own. He starts looking seriously into college options, applies for a second job that would support him if he moved out on his own. He’s starting to feel awkward living in what’s turning into Markus and Simon’s love-nest, and he wants his own space, his privacy.

He finds a small apartment in a developing area, one he can just afford. It’s kinda cramped, a little drafty and worn. Markus and Simon give him a potted plant that he manages to keep alive, and eventually the place starts to feel like his own.

 

In the spring they celebrate Markus’s acceptance into law school. They get raging drunk and Connor fucks some guy in the bathroom of a club and doesn’t think of Hank once.

On the way home he stops by a store window, staring at a poster of two young men in uniforms with their arms crossed, smiling into the camera;

  _Provide Protection and Service to All._

  _Join the Ann Arbor Police Department._


End file.
